Everything Burns
by Sonic's Shadow X
Summary: Marcus is Vault 72's only survivor. Now, the remains of the Communist Army have come to DC, to finish what their ancestors began, and it's up to him unite the forces of the wastes in one final war. But of course, you know what they say about war...
1. The Cold, Hard Truth

**EVERYTHING BURNS**

_A Fallout 3 Fanfic by Sonic's Shadow_

A quick word from the author:

_Greetings everyone, and thank you for clicking on my wonderful story. For some reason, you're still reading, and for just that I'm grateful. This isn't my first Fan-fiction, and I hope to God that it's not my last, but I'm still getting used to this whole internet-story thing. So while I do have plenty of experience as a writer–and, for that matter, a Fallout player–just know that I'm still getting the hang of this style of writing. _

_Having said that, constructive criticism is more than welcome. In the few stories I have begun to post on this site, I very rarely receive any reviews at all. So as always, feel free to, as the kids say, "R&R." _

_This story does not follow the direct storyline of the actual game, Fallout 3, but do know that it has certain elements72 from that plot before we get into the main storyline. _

_IMPORTANT NOTE: While the description you read on the previous page is entirely true, do know that a large portion of Marcus' story starts off as that of any other wanderer of the Wastes; he escapes his vault, makes friends, fights for survival, travels the city, blah blah blah… I guess what I'm trying to say is that while our story IS about the return of the Chinese army, the first several chapters will not necessarily be based around that concept._

_But now I'm rambling. On a final (mandatory) note, the reasons for this story's rating (M) are as follows: _

_Drugs_

_Alcohol_

_Intense Language_

_Possible Sexual Content_

_Extreme Violence_

_In short, everything Fallout. This story is NOT recommended for young audiences._

_Now, without further ado, let's begin…_

**FOREWORD/CHAPTER 1:** THE COLD, HARD TRUTH

They say everything burns.

Everything.

Wood, metal, diamonds, whatever. Even water can "burn," but that's a whole different story. But what do they mean by 'everything?' I think this saying has more to it than just inanimate objects. Lives can burn, countries can burn, cities can burn. And when I say cities, I don't mean those metal things with tall buildings and noisy cars. I'm talking about the lifestyle, the sense of culture that binds a city together, makes its people one. The vaults were cities of sorts. Cities which we were forced into, but cities nonetheless. Culture, society. A society encased in cold steel. We should have known it would burn, to.

And what happens when you start a fire in a closed space? It burns itself out.

But hell, you know what they say:

The vaults were never meant to save anyone.

Everything burns.

Marcus learned that the hard way, when a mysterious, deadly infection wiped out his entire vault. Vault 72, where no one can enter, and anyone can leave… but nobody wants to. They were too afraid, and it was that very fear that brought their demise.

In his short Vault 72 life, Marcus learned a set of life's rules, some of which were as follows:

Everything burns.

Nobody is all good.

Nobody is all evil.

Everyone has a breaking point.

Anyone will do anything, given the proper incentive.

Nothing is perfect.

Everything is balanced.

Everyone is unique.

Nothing is immortal.

No ship is unsinkable.

No problem is unsolvable.

No battle is un-winnable.

Life is unfair.

And war… well, you know the rest.

War never changes.

For some reason, birth is considered to be the beginning of your life. Of course, this is not technically true, as life obviously begins with conception, nine months earlier. But it's how humans have always worked, and it's probably how they always will work. Why is birth thought to be the beginning of life? Because it's the first time you can truly feel for yourself. A flash of light, and suddenly the pieces come together, and all your questions begin to be answered.

Or do they?

Marcus was born twice. Once, when he came forth from his mother's womb, and again, when he came forth from the vault, into the real world. Will he be born a third time? Will he be released into some grand scheme, even bigger than the outside world? Only time will tell. Either way, our story begins with the former 'birth.'

And a flash of light.

"Rachel, we've done it! We've given birth to a boy! A beautiful baby boy!"

"Oh, David, this is… this is wonderful!…"

The baby blinked his eyes opened, adjusting to the sudden change in scenery as he became accustomed to his new surrounded. What was this place?

The others in the room, aside from his mother, were staring at him intently, waiting. Those first seconds just might determine the rest of his life…

...And he began to cry. The baby began bawling, and the doctors and nurses let out a sigh of relief.

"He's breathing fine, David. You and your wife have given birth to a very healthy child."

David breathed happily and turned back to his new son. "Hi, there! I'm your daddy. _Daddy. _Oh, look at you!"

Of course, the infant had no idea what his father was saying. However, he was staring at David with an incredibly intelligent gaze…

"...It's a big world out there, son, with lots of new people. I wonder what kind of person you're going to be…"


	2. The Lion's Den

**CHAPTER 2: **THE LION'S DEN

And so, the child's life went on. David and Rachel named him Marcus, after Rachel's father. But, all was not well in Vault 72…

Shortly after Marcus was born, a fellow vault dweller by the name of Jimmy Crawford contracted a strange disease. The doctor wasn't sure what to make of it; nothing about the disease seemed harmful. The only symptoms seemed to be extreme headaches, cramping of the muscles at random times, and an incurable case of bloodshot eyes, as if the man had been drinking way to much. Doctor Rogers simply passed it off as old age.

And still, life went on. Before he knew it, Marcus was turning ten, receiving his new Pip-boy 3000 wrist computer. A DNA scan had finally come through (Vault 72 seemed to have incredibly out-of-date technology, DNA scans taking years to process.)

What he saw in the computer image was a rough depiction of what he would supposedly look like in ten years. Staring back at him was a man with features identical to his own.

_Well, of course he looks like you! _Marcus thought to himself. _He _is _you! _

In the 3D image, he could easily see the rounded forehead, the pronounced cheekbones, the intense eyes he had now. According to the computer, his green-ish eyes would darken to a deep blue by the time he was a man. Other than that, there wasn't mush else the image simulator could tell him that he didn't already know. Would a computer-generated depiction really suffice as an accurate representation of what he would really look like? It was too soon to tell.

That got Marcus thinking. How the hell would a gene reader know what he would be like when he matured? Sure, it could predict his features that distinguished him, but he could have those his entire life. What the machine would never be able to analyze was the events in his lifetime that made him who he was. Was the face on the screen before him that of an evil man, or a saint? Someone who had witnessed and caused death and pain, or a human enclosed in a perfect home for the rest of his life? Again, it was too soon to tell.

So yes, this machine might know what shape his head would be, how dark his eyes would become, what color his hair and skinnwould naturally be toned. But when he grew up, he would never be exactly the same as far as a machine could predict. His face would show the years of his life experiences.

At that moment, staring at an older version of himself on his Pip-boy, Marcus made a personal vow. He would save the image that he was looking at now, and in fifteen years he would compare it to himself then, and see just how much the world had changed him.

Meanwhile, Doctor Rogers' office was becoming more and more full with patients who had contracted the infamous Crawford disease, later christened "72 syndrome."

Unfortunately for the vault dwellers, this disease was unlike any they had ever encountered.

Since Jimmy Crawford's first case, almost ten years ago, the effects had seemingly evolved, from that of a mild flu to what was now a feverish, wild state. The infected patients would have random bouts of rage, often spluttering nonsense and getting over-dramatically angry for no reason at all. Other victims would suddenly feel faint and dizzy, collapsing on the ground with no warning and seemingly no cause. Various medical samples showed that their blood was beginning to dry out, turning a rusty sunset-orange color, and becoming incredibly thick.

Doctor Rogers simply had no idea what to do with the patients. They seemed incurably dehydrated, and no medications he possessed were able to alleviate the effects of the diseased. Water practally dried up in their systems, doing little more than dampen their dried throats. 72 Syndrome was incredibly contagious, and Rogers could only spend so much time tending to his patients before he had to lock them in quarantine, for his own safety.

But the disease wasn't deadly. Not yet at least. And that was enough to keep spirits up in the lonely Vault.

Marcus turned 13, and the unthinkable happened.

At age 63, Jimmy Crawford died of 72 Syndrome. It was the first death in the vault (aside from old age deaths) in over thirty years. After spending weeks in mourn, some of the vault dwellers began to wonder…was it worth it to stay here? They could leave if they wanted, the Overseer wouldn't stop them. But was is logical to depart from a vault that kept them so safe from the harsh wasteland that awaited them just beyond the steel doors? No, most of them agreed, it wasn't. They would find a cure for the now-lethal sickness, and everything would be fine, they said. The few who still wanted to leave were much too afraid to leave on their own. And so, they remained in their precious vault, and life went on.

For the most part.

Three years later, and the vault was in turmoil. Over twenty people had perished from 72 Syndrome already, and forty others were on their way. After confirming that he, himself, had contracted the disease, Doctor Rogers offered to lock himself in permanent quarantine with the other infected, cutting them off from the rest of the vault by literally dividing the whole of Vault 72 in half.

Unfortunately, it didn't quite work.

Only a week after the two sides of the vault were officially closed off from each other forever, Maria Stewart came down with 72 Syndrome as well. She was on the wrong side of the vault, with no doctor to treat her.

Still, despite the incredibly grim, inevitable fate they all saw for each other, the 72 dwellers tried to continue their lives as normal. G.O. were taken, children were given assignments to be carried as long as they remained in the vault. Marcus was written off as a security guard. It wasn't head of security, as he had wanted, but it was better than Janitor, like Mike Alridge had gotten.

Marcus really didn't have any friends in the vault. Sure, there were people he liked, cute girls, kind old ladies, responsible men to look up to. But he really didn't truly care about anyone other than himself and his parents, David and Rachel. And he intended to keep it that way.

But still, he couldn't help but feel sorry for the others inside the vault. Here they were, locked up like David in the Lion's den. The door was right there, but still they refused to leave, for fear of something worse on the other side. So while those inhabiting Vault 72 cowered here in their 'safe' little nuclear bunker, they were being ever-so-slowly wiped out from the inside…

A year later, and there were hardly fifteen 'clean' inhabitants of the vault. Food was running out, people were dropping like flies, and the survivors could only wait to meet their doom. Fifteen people who still had a chance. The day before he turned 17, Marcus found out that his mother was not one of them.

**Note: You may have noticed that I changed the vault number from 77 to 72. This is because I recently realized that Vault 77 is the vault from the story "One man and a box of puppets" (If you don't know it, google it. It's the story where the saying, "vaults were never meant to save anyone" came from). The number 72 is an inside joke, I'll give you a shoutout if you can figure it out (Hint: Said inside joke involves Chris Rock)**


	3. VIRUS

**CHAPTER 3: **VIRUS

Another year passes.

Marcus is awoken from his stiff vault-tec bed by a strong hand shaking his shoulder roughly.

"Marcus, come on. You need to wake up!"

Finally, he blinked his eyes open, and took a minute to adjust to the light.

Always the light.

"Dad… w–what is it?"

David sighed. "They're dead, son. All of them."

Marcus was honestly not too surprised. He'd always known this day would come; he just didn't expect to live to see it. After his mother died, a month ago, it was as if he had no more sorrow to bear. He had grieved for his fellow vault dwellers long before they had even perished.

The strange thing was, he had never once cried. Don't get me wrong; These last few years, Marcus had been sad, miserable even. But he hadn't ever once cried in his life, not since the day he was born.

"Even the Overseer?" Marcus asked in wonder. Vault 72's Overseer hadn't come out of his office in almost two years. If anybody was spared the pandemic, Marcus would have expected it to be him.

"Yes, the Overseer to. He was the very last to go. I...I was just in his office."

"So...what now?"

"There's nothing left for us here," David replied gravely, his voice sounding older than ever before. "It's a miracle that we're not infected yet, but there's no use in pushing our luck. We're leaving the vault in the next ten minutes."

Marcus nodded, having expected this. All hope of finding cure to 72 Syndrome was lost. If they wanted to survive, ironically, the apocalyptic wasteland was their best chance.

"Son, I understand that this is quite a bit to take in so soon…"

"No, it's fine, dad. Just give me a second, and we'll go."

David sighed and turned to exit the room. "Alright, but don't take long. The sooner we get the fuck out of here, the better…"

Once his father had left the room, Marcus took a moment to compose himself.

_Finally…_

After eighteen years of living in this godforsaken hole, he and his father were free.

_Eighteen. Fucking. Years._

Legs shaking a bit–not from excitement or fear, but anticipation–he made his way to the mirror on the other side of his room, where he studied himself. Over the past few years he had allowed his clean cut, jet-black hair to grow out. He'd decided to let it get longer–not too long, but just below his ears. Annabel Harden, the closest thing he'd ever had to a girlfriend, had always said she like the unkept look better, so he had taken to keeping his hair at the 'bedraggled' style showed on his pip-boy. In addition, he'd grown out a light goatee and mustache. Nothing too crazy, he wasn't trying too look like a frenchman, or a survivalist. Just a clean O-shape of dark stubble around his mouth looked alright to him.

Next were his eyes. Tired eyes. People always said he had the same eyes as his grandfather, also named Marcus, but there was no way of knowing for sure. Either way, the DNA scanner had proven true on that ground; his eyes had long since become a dark shade of blue.

"Marcus, let's go! If we don't leave soon, we won't have any daylight!"

He was jarred from his thoughts by his father's urgent voice. Yes, they had to go quickly. Every second they spent in here was a second they could be escaping to safety. Without a word, Marcus opened the drawer and took out his only real possession: a 10mm pistol he had acquired after the 72 Syndrome had gotten out of hand.

It was time to go.

For what would be the last time in history, the cold metal doors slid shut behind him with an animal-like hiss. The musty air in the cramped vault had long since become slightly tinted green, another side affect of 72 Syndrome. Although the contaminated air had never seemed to directly harm anyone, Marcus always made a point to breathe in as little as possible while outside the filtered safety of his room.

A more emotional being may have stopped by the rooms of their loved ones as they exited the vault for the first and last time, but Marcus did not. Yes, he was a compassionate person, but he wasn't the type to get caught up in grief those who had been long deceased.

In what seemed like the blink of an eye, Marcus was standing in the Overseer's quarters with his father. The only two survivors of Vault 72 began searching desperately for the password.

"It's a five-letter code, right, dad?"

David didn't look up as he scattered papers around on the cluttered desk, searching for something, _anything_ to give them a clue."Yeah, try hacking the terminals over there."

Marcus wasn't great with computers, but he didn't complain. As long as it got them out of this hellhole faster, he'd do whatever it took.

But when he sat down at the terminal, it had already been booted up. Walls of text covered the screen, and at the top, the document read "VAULT 72: EXPERIMENTAL INFECTION CHAMBERS

Momentarily forgetting about his urgent mission, Marcus scrolled down, suddenly intrigued.

**We have decided to conduct a test on the residents of one Vault #72, located approximately four miles northwest of the District of Columbia, Maryland. A modified form of the FEV virus, altered to be incalculably less aggressive than than of Vault #87, has been placed in a highly inaccessible chamber located in the Vault-tec resonation chamber of the bunker. In exactly two years, this virus will be exposed to the inhabitants of the Vault. Engineered to slowly evolve, in a similar manner to that of the flu, it is expected that the virus will become lethal within the course of approximately 15 years–**

Marcus stopped reading. He couldn't believe his eyes.

"Dad." He called out hoarsely.

"Son what is it? Have you found the–" David stopped when he saw what his son was looking at. "I…I'm sorry, Marcus. I meant to delete that before you–"

"You mean you_ knew _about this!"

"I only discovered it this morning, when I found the Overseer's body in here. I'm so sorry, son."

Marcus wasn't listening anymore. He only gazed off into space, with wide eyes. "It was an experiment. The virus, to stories about how terrible the wasteland was, the lack of medicine...all of it."

"Marcus…"

The boy turned to his father, all the rage and pain of the past three years letting loose.

"_IT WAS A FUCKING EXPERIMENT!"_

David reached forward and held his son. Marcus didn't cry, but he came closer than he ever had before, burying he face in his father's shoulder like a young boy.

"They locked us in here...just to let us fucking _die."_

_"_It's okay, son. There's nothing we can do about it now." David took his son by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. "The only thing left is to get the hell out of here. Do you understand? That's the only important thing now."

Marcus closed his eyes tight and nodded, lowering is head.

"Now come on, I think I know the password."

"You do? What is it?"

David could only smile. "'Virus'"

David entered the code into the switch beside the Overseer's desk. Sure enough, the whole piece of furniture began to rise, leading to the underground tunnel, and the door that kept them from the outside world.

"Well, I guess this is it, son...are you ready?

Marcus sighed. "I don't really have a choice, now do I?"

"I suppose you don't. Let's get going."

But as his father disappeared down the ghostly steps, Marcus turned back to the Overseer's terminal. The very last line in the document he'd been reading was one of complete irony. It read,

**"After all… the vaults were never meant to save anyone."**

Marcus couldn't help but smile as he typed under it,

"**This is Marcus Davidson, last resident of Vault #72. My father and I are now leaving he vault, forever. If anyone from vault-tec is reading this…well, you were wrong. The vaults _did _save someone."**


	4. Fate's Twisted Sense of Humor

**CHAPTER 4: **FATE'S TWISTED SENSE OF HUMOR

"You ready, son?"

"...No, actually, I'm not."

"Me neither. Let's go."

David stared, transfixed, at the huge metallic door.  
"Marcus, one more thing. Put these on."

He tossed his on a small, black object, which Marcus realized was a pair of sunglasses.

"You'll want to keep those on. If you think light gets bright down here, wait 'till you see the sun…"

Marcus examined them before putting them on. A strange hieroglyph, shaped similarly to the letter A, was embroidered the side. "What does this little symbol mean?"

David chuckled. "It used to mean Anarchy. These days, it's thought to bring luck."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Marcus' lips. "Lucky shades…" But he didn't have time to be speculating over superstitious accessories. Marcus had only just slipped on the glasses when his father flicked the switch.

And so the doors slid open.

As the haunting **72** rolled away for the last time, a siren blared, momentarily deafening Marcus. There was a low _hiss _as the airlock was broken, and the two were hit with a blast of cool, fresh air. For the first time in a long time, Marcus smelled something other than musty, contaminated, recycled oxygen.

David hadn't been joking; it _was _bright. In fact, it was brighter than bright. If it hadn't been for the shades, Marcus wouldn't have been able to see a thing. But it didn't matter what he saw–it mattered what he heard. And was he heard was…

Gunfire?

_Wait...what?_

And so began Marcus and David's first experience in the Capital Wasteland: a gunfight.

Well, technically, guns and lasers.

Blinking his eyes rapidly, Marcus exclaimed, "What the fuck?"  
David, who hadn't recovered his vision either, looked helpless.

As the blurriness in Marcus' eyes subsided, what he saw was even stranger than he'd ever expected to find in the Wasteland.

A group of disgruntled soldiers, clad in robot-like power armor, were scattered across the ravaged terrain. In their hands were various weapons of death, mostly miniguns and laser rifles.

Their enemies, who seemed to be falling back, were various men and women, presumably in their early twenties, sporting mohawks, liberty spikes, and various other rebellious haircuts. Their attire included archlight helmets, gas masks, leather pads, painspikes, blastmaster armor, hockey pads, and just about any other type of shabby protective clothing imaginable. Despite their inevitable scrawniness, the punks were putting up an incredible fight, wielding assault rifles, pistols, and grenades.

A slightly robotic voice sounded from near the vault door. "Hey, you civilians, what the hell are you doing here?"  
One of the Power Armor soldiers was coming toward them, holding his weapon at the ready. "This is a fucking warzone, you can't just walk–"

But the soldier was cut off my a frag grenade landing at his feet.  
"Shit…"

The ground exploded under the man's feet, sending various pieces of Power Armor and flesh flying everywhere. Luckily, the soldier's laser rifle was still on the ground.

Several bullets went whizzing by Marcus' head, coming from the direction of the Warhawks, and he had a feeling that they weren't accidental.  
Picking up the fallen soldier's weapon, Marcus called, "Dad, get behind me! I think I have a feeling whose side we're on!"

David happily obliged, seeing as to the fact that he was a considerable number of years older than Marcus, and wasn't prepared for this kind of action. The two of them took cover behind just one of the many large boulders littering the destroyed, desert-like wasteland.

Afraid of getting shot, Marcus could do little more than stick his rifle around the rock and blindfire, hoping to get a lucky hit. In the commotion, Marcus almost didn't notice another Power Armor-clad soldier. This was a slightly different model of the armor, sporting a bit more bulk, and colored like it had been splattered with red paint. At least, Marcus _hoped_ it was red paint.

"You two! This is a dangerous area, and we don't have time to be protecting civilians. What the hell are you doing here?"

As Marcus fired at the enemies desperately, David exclaimed, "Wait, who are you people?"

Taking cover behind the same boulder as Marcus, the soldier replied, "I'm Captain Nathaniel, and these are my troops. We're the Brotherhood of Steel Outcasts!" As he spoke, he rose from his cover and fired several rounds from his plasma rifle. All of them hit their marks.

"You mean, you guys are the Brotherhood of Steel?"

"Outcasts, yes. Who are _you_ people?"

"I'm David, and this is my son, Marcus. We're the last survivors from this vault, Vault 72."

"You mean, you guys are the last survivors from the vault?"

"Vault 72, yes. What the hell are _you _guys doing here?"

In truth, Marcus would have found the back-and-forth conversation between the two men somewhat comical, if he hadn't been huddled behind a rock for his fucking life, firing laser rounds at mysterious punks because he would be shot otherwise. Of course, Marcus had learned who the Brotherhood of Steel were a long time ago; apparently, they were a bunch of religious weirdos who ran around in Power Armor, killing irradiated monsters while they worshiped their precious technology. But Marcus was still as confused as David as to who the Outcasts were, and what they were doing there. So he listened intently as David and the man, _Captain Nathaniel_, spoke, and Marcus and the other soldiers picked off the last few attackers, who they later learned were called Raiders. Nathaniel explained that the Outcasts were a sub-faction of the Lyons Pride, which was the name of the Brotherhood pride which occupied the Capital Wasteland. Apparently, the Outcasts were a group, stationed at Fort Independence, who were devoted to collecting and preserving technology lost after the Great War. They were searching the vaults for tech and had, by some remarkable coincidence, arrived at 72 just moments before Marcus ad David escaped.

After the Raiders had all been either killed or scared away, David was able to have a more decent conversation with Captain Nathaniel. "I'm sorry sir, but we're the only ones left. The rest of the vault was wiped out by a virus that vault-tec created, and I doubt the air is safe for anyone from the outside to breathe, without some kind of protective clothing."

Nathaniel's eyebrow rose. "Well, you're probably more resistant to this '72 Syndrome' than the rest of us, what if we hired you two to go back in there and get some equipment?"

Marcus returned his gaze with one of red-hot anger. "Are you fucking _kidding _me? Go back in the vault that we just barely escaped, and where everyone we've ever known on this earth just died, because they wouldn't leave?"

Nathaniel looked embarrassed "Right…sorry, bad idea. But, I suppose we do owe you a favor. After all, you helped us fend off those Raiders, and we could have lost some good men in that vault if you hadn't warned us about the virus."

Marcus and David looked at each other.

Then, Marcus spoke."Well, I doubt we'll last long out here with a shitty pistol, a few bullets, and no idea where we're going. We you mind if we tagged along to the nearest settlement?"

Another Outcast stepped forward and objected. "But sir...we don't protect civilians! If they need a babysitter, let fuckin' Lyons and his men do it! We're here for–"

"Silence, Protector Jay." Nathaniel interrupted him by raising his hand. "Had we gone into the vault, you would've been the first, and therefore the most likely to catch this '72 Syndrome.' These locals may very well have saved our lives, and the least we can do is let them follow us a few miles to Megaton."

Jay opened his mouth to object, but the Captain cut him off. "We're taking the vault dwellers to Megaton, and that's final."

Another soldier looked the sky. "It's getting late, and the vultures are beginning to circle. We have to get moving if we wanna beat the sun."

Jay reluctantly turned to the group of men and growled, "Girdoff, Hanson, Reynolds, you're my scouts! Let's move, people; we're losing daylight!"

A couple hours and many complaints later, dusk was upon the weary travelers, and the last traces of sundown were slipping away from view. It w as a sight Marcus had waited to see his whole life.

He and David took the back of the group, along with Captain Nathaniel and the unlucky brahmin who were carrying the squad's plunder.

"I'm terribly sorry about Protector Jay's behavior…" He went on. Marcus was only half-listening to the pressing conversation between his father and the Captain.

"He's usually not like this, but… ever since we were rejected from the Lyon's Pride, he's always had a grudge against anyone not wearing a uniform. Once you get to know him, though…he really _is _a superb soldier. That boy would be well on his way to a huge promotion, if only he could learn to hold his tongue…"

He was cut off when the soldier at the front came to an abrupt stop. He held up his hand, supposedly hearing something, and flicked a switch on his Power Helmet. He–sorry, _she_– whispered, "I've got contact...pack of rabid dogs, eleven o'clock, .7 miles off…"

She swiftly removed a gleaming sniper rifle from her back. Four quick, muffled shots, and…

"Nice shooting, Protector Jordan."

"Thank you, sir."

With that, Nathaniel chuckled. "Marcus, David, you're in luck. You're about to have your first meal in the wasteland…and you're eating it with Delta Squad of the Brotherhood Outcasts."

The Dog Meat wasn't great, but Marcus hadn't eaten a full meal in days–the vault's pantry had long since become contaminated, and their food was scarce. Sitting around the dimly lit, makeshift campsite was the first time he had seen any of the soldiers without their helmets on. Jay had a hard face, with long, wavy blonde hair, eyes like almonds, and a nasty scar running down his cheek. There was Jordan, with her dark skin and a black ponytail, and Nathaniel, with neat, silvery hair and knowing eyes. Medals and awards riddled his red-camouflaged suit, and around his neck he held countless dog tags, whereas the other soldiers had only one. The lighting was too dim to make out the features of the countless other individuals, soldiers who hadn't yet taken the time to meet Marcus and his father.

"We'll be to Megaton soon, before the night is over." Nathaniel began to speak. "Hell, we would've been there sooner, if it wasn't for these damn brahmin, but you know…the mission is our first priority. Once we're there, you're going to want to talk to Lucas Simms, the town Mayor/Sheriff. You can't miss him; tall, black guy, dresses like a cowboy, usually waiting just inside the city gate. He'll check you out and let you stay for the night; if you're lucky, even longer. If not, gather all the supplies you can afford and go west.

"At the end of the Potomac, you'll find rivet city, the Wasteland's largest settlement. It's mostly built out of the remains of an abandoned aircraft carrier; needless to say, you'll be safe there."

David began to thank him, but Protector Jay spoke up. "Quiet!….You hear that?"

Another outcast–Protector Anderson, Marcus was pretty sure–leaned in, confused. "Hear what, Jay?"

Jay held up a finger in silence. All eyes on him, his catlike eyes squinted and he seemed to perk his ears up. "It sounds like–" He gasped. "...Gunfire."

With that, he grabbed his laser rifle and leapt to his feet, throwing on his helmet. "Everyone, up! The scouts, they're under attack!"

**Thanks for reading this far! The story is about to take an unexpected turn, so keep checking for updates and, as always, R&R! Remember, every time you don't rate a chapter, China builds another atomic bomb! **

**P.S.: I'm looking for more character ideas...mostly because i'm an uncreative asshole. Try not to spam me, but feel free to leave any character bios, and you just might end up in the story!**


	5. My Dying Breath

**CHAPTER 5:** MY DYING BREATH

Having the least to carry, Marcus was the first of the group to catch up to Protector Jay, who had followed the sounds of the battle to their location. Coming up behind the soldier to the top of a large hill, Marcus had a clear view of the valley below. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears as he gasped–both from exhaustion and surprise–as he struggled to comprehend what he was seeing below.

The three Outcasts were pinned down by gunfire on the ruins of an old highway below. They desperately took cover against lone pieces of street rubble and decimated cars, highly outnumbered and hardly able to fight back.

Their attackers were the most gruesome wasteland beasts Marcus had yet laid eyes on. Eight feet tall, olive-green skin, cracked yellow teeth and angry, beady eyes, the troll-like monsters were clad in battle armor and sported nail boards, assault rifles, and rocket launches as their tools of death. They slowly marched down from the hilly landscape, dramatically accented by the setting sun behind them, and advanced on the ravaged road below.

Jordan, Anderson, and Nathaniel quickly arrived behind them, heaving as they tried to catch their breath, and staring at the gruesome scene before them.

"Holy shit…" Jordan whispered as a troll charged one of the outcasts, clubbing him do death and ferociously throwing his body at the other two like a rag doll.

"Well, what the hell are you waiting for?" Nathaniel roared. "Brothers, to arms! Attack!"

Still trying to process what was going on, Marcus readied his laser rifle and charged into battle behind the four Protectors, closely followed my David and the remaining Outcast soldiers.

Before he knew it, bullets were whizzing by his head, and Marcus desperately dove for cover behind an ancient freeway barricade. Not far off, Nathaniel was returning fire from the protection of the remains of a truck, next to one of the two surviving scouts.

"Initiate Matthew, what 'we got?"

"Super mutants, sir! From what I can tell, two drones, five brutes, and a mast– GYAHH!"

His debriefing came to a halt as a spray of bullets slammed into his face, knocking off his helmet and splattering blood against the road.

"Initiate Matthew!" Nathaniel cried out. In rage, he tore off his helmet and sprang from cover, face lit up with the flash of his assault rifle's bullets. "Jay, get the civilians out of here!"

"Sir, there's no way in hell I'm leav–"

"JUST FUCKING DO IT!" Nathaniel turned his head to order his right hand man. In that instant, a flurry of lasers struck his chest, and he was sent flying backwards.

Jay's eyes widened. "NO!"

Stunned, Marcus could only watch in horror as the Captain's dead body struck the ground, the man's weapon falling beside him. He spun around to see the killer; a new super mutant, silhouetted against the flaming sky as it charged down the hill. The beast was huge, at least eleven feet tall, rippling with muscle, and in its powerful arms was carrying a wicked gatling laser, reaping destruction across the already-grim battlefield.

"OVERLORD!" Jay called out as his fellow Outcasts desperately fled, many being struck down by stray lasers as they attempted to escape the ambush zone. "Fall back, dammit! FALL BACK!"

"Jordan, that thing isn't wearing a helmet!" David shouted hoarsely over the explosions and gunfire, taking cover out of Marcus' sight. "Take its motherfucking head off!"

Bravely, the female warrior spun around in mid-sprint as death and destruction set the world around her on fire. Through a rain of bullets and blood, she brought the sniper scope to her face, squinting as the landscape before her was torn up by gunfire...

Marcus, who was still firing from under cover beside her, watched in horror as the Super Mutant Overlord set down it laser and brought out from behind its back what could only be a missile launcher. Though many of its comrades had fallen, it seemed to grin confidently through its yellow stained teeth as it readied the weapon.

The force of the impact was so powerful, Marcus didn't even see the explosion. All he could hear was the deadly chattering of bullets, and the screams of pain around him that could only mean death.

Despite the lucky shades, Marcus seemed to be blinded by the flash of the missile similarly to the flash of light as he exited Vault 72. Only this time, his ears were ringing painfully and he was on the ground, dazed and sore.

As he staggered to his feet, he could barely see out of the corner of his eye the four remaining Super Mutants, who steadily marched forward to finish them off. As he struggled to stand, a body a few yards off caught his attention.

_No._

Despite his injuries and the advancing Super Mutants, Marcus rushed over to the dead man at his feet.

"NO!"

Marcus' father was dead. For the first time in his life, the boy–no, the man–laid his head down, and wept.

"Mar–...Marcus…"

But no, he wasn't quite gone. David still had a few heartbeats left in him, and he was using them to try and speak to his only son.

Marcus' voice shook as he whispered, "Dad...what is it? I'm here, Dad" Leaning in closer, Marcus listened intently to David's final words.

"Son…." His dry, cracked lips quivered as a trickle of blood dripped down his cheek. "Marcus… I am the alpha...the omega…the beginning…and the end..."

Confused, Marcus held his father's head, trying to understand. However David's dying voice cracked, and he couldn't seem to speak any more. Marcus looked down in horror to see the old man's chest impaled with shrapnel from the explosion. It was a wonder he was still alive.

Letting out a hacking, final cough, David stared into Marcus' watery eyes with a look of age and wisdom far beyond his years. Desperately, he held onto his son's wrist with a shaking hand, trying to tell him something.

"Hang in there, Dad, talk to me. I'm here for you, don't worry!"

Marcus could only watch and listen as his father croaked, "Son...Two….six…..._one_"

"Two, six, one?"

David closed his eyes and nodded painfully. "Marcus..._The beginning…and the end…_"

And then he was dead.

**Sorry this chapter was so short, but it's more like an extension to the last one. It was such an important part to the story, I had to get it up, and i wanted to make the ending as dramatic as i could.**

**I'm asuming you all know what 261 means, but for the sake of the plot, let's pretend we don't ;).**

**Don't forget to review!**


	6. Last Man Standing

**CHAPTER 6: **LAST MAN STANDING

Marcus found himself moaning in anguish.

"No, dad..._please,_ no!"

The thought of him being the sole survivor of Vault 72 was nearly unbearable. Hell, for all he knew, he was the last survivor of the group of Outcasts. Looking around, the explosion had killed everyone else; Anderson, Jordan, and all the others lay dead around him.

A tear fell from Marcus' eye, and landed on the stone cold chest of his father's body. "This can't be happening…" How could his life have changed so drastically in such a short time? The thought that he had left his comfortable life in the vault less than 24 hours ago seemed impossible…

Marcus was jarred from his grieving thoughts by a rough hand grabbing at the back of his jumpsuit. The voice that it belonged to was calling out to him, but it seemed to be far off, as if it was a dream in the back of his mind.

Startled, he spun around, expecting to see a Super Mutant standing over him, ready to beat his skull in. Instead, it was none other than Protector Jay. His face was splattered with blood, and his eyes seemed haunted after watching the slaughtering of his comrades.

The man's voice seemed to get louder as Marcus' consciousness burst back into reality.

"Marcus? Marcus! We have to get out of here, NOW!"

Still confused, Marcus clutched the front of his father's jumpsuit. "I'm not leaving him!"

"Marcus, SNAP OUT OF IT! We're in a fucking WARZONE!"

Then Marcus remembered: Super Mutants. Weapons. Killing. He seemed to have forgotten everything that had transpired before his only surviving friend's death.

"Marcus, pull yourself together! He's dead, just like all the others! He's DEAD! There' nothing more we can do; we have to get the hell out of here!"

Still dazed, Marcus allowed Jay to pull him to his feet. The instant he stood up, a Super Mutant called out, and a spray of bullets was sent his way.

It was then that Marcus remembered exactly _why_ David was dead.

Shaking off Jay's grip on him, Marcus was suddenly filled with rage against his father's murderers. He dove backwards, using the hole created by the missile explosion as cover, and fired several laser rounds over his shoulder.

The surviving super mutants–four, he counted–roared and charged in his direction.

"That's right, ugly bitches!" Jay roared, taking cover and tossing a frag grenade. "Come get some!"

Overcome with anger, Marcus rose from his makeshift barricade and used up the last of his laser ammunition. Casting the beat up weapon aside, he whipped out his .10mm pistol, the only gun he still possessed. Naturally, it didn't do much.

"Marcus!" Jay shouted over the gunfire. "Take out the Overlord, it's our only chance!"

Desperate for something better than his shabby pistol, Marcus grabbed the first weapon that he saw lying on the ground: the Sniper Rifle, which had fallen a few feet away from Jordan's dead body. At the same moment, the Overlord opened fire, lighting up the sky with a wall of red lasers, and laying down enough cover fire to allow its brethren to advance.

Jay cried out as a laser struck his armored shoulder, and his assault rifle clattered to the ground. "Marcus, if you're gonna do something, then fucking do it!"

Time slowed down as Marcus loaded the rifle and let all his grief and anger channel into the bullet he was firing. He had hardly even aimed when he pulled the trigger, and watched in awe as the slug smashed into the monster's forehead, punching a clean hole through and coming out the other side.

David had slain Goliath. However, his victory was short-lived. As he quickly realized he was out of ammo, Marcus stared like a deer in headlights as the three remaining mutants charged, weapons at the ready.

In a flash, Jay grabbed Marcus with his good arm and through him back with astounding strength. Then, in the most badass show of combat Marcus had ever witnessed, the Outcast kicked his gun off the ground like a soccer ball, caught it with his uninjured hand, and fired three swift shots into the engine of the ruined car Marcus had been using as protection moments ago.

Marcus had to admit, the miniature atomic explosion that ensued was a bit overdone. But hell; it worked, didn't it?

When the dust cleared, Marcus could only choke out the radiated dust that filled his throat, and watch Jay wander around the bodies of his dead squadron, with a gaunt expression on his face. It was too soon for the recent events to sink in; Marcus was sure that, in the days to come, there would be plenty of grieving to be done. But for now, all he could do was wallow in the aftermath of the battle.

Jay inspected the wreckage, trying to give himself something to do. In truth, it was the first time in living memory that he was at loss as to the plan of action, the next step. All his life had been spent taking orders, and now his leader–and all his men–were dead. It truly seemed to him that there was nothing left to lose.

Before he knew it, he came to Captain Nathaniel's dead body. Filled to the brim with grief, he leaned down, removed the helmet, and lightly touched the older man's forehead. "Goodbye, chief." He whispered, and proceeded to rip off the Captain's dusty holotag. Adding the small souvenir to a handful of at least ten others, he turned to Marcus and spoke, his voice hoarse. "Take all that you can carry. Whatever you can salvage...it's yours. It's part of the Brotherhood Code of Honor to leave behind any fallen soldier's supplies to needy travelers. Just...leave the Power Helmets, alright? They have the tracking chip in them, so command can account for the dead. Anything else is yours."

Marcus nodded sadly and examined the closest Outcast's possessions. "Why are you helping me? I mean, back there, in the fight, and now, with the equipment...I can tell you really don't like me, so why not just leave me to die? I'm only slowing you down."

Jay patted the young man's shoulder and pursed his lips. "Don't worry about it. We've both suffered huge losses, kid; we're the last men standing." He gazed off into space, deep in thought. "I'm not sure whether that makes us the strongest–or simply the luckiest–of our kinds…"

"Well personally, I think we're both. Being the best at just one thing isn't enough to keep you alive."

The Outcast chuckled. "So true. Now, gather up all the equipment you can hold. I have to get back to Fort Independence, and if you want to make it through the night, then you'll need to get to Megaton safely."

With that, Jay walked off. Mind still racing, Marcus couldn't do much more than nod and mutter, "Thank you...for everything."

Then, it was time for wasteland scavenging 101.

Twenty minutes later, Marcus was admiring all the supplies he had managed to scrape together. Despite everything, he couldn't help but feel a bit proud of himself. Altogether, he had obtained several boxes of sugar bombs, some leftover dog meat, a bottle of the cleanest water he could find, a couple hand grenades, an assault rifle, hunting rifle, and sniper rifle, a scoped .44 Magnum, various parts to a broken Gauss Rifle, as well as several spare parts for the various weapons, and all the ammo he could fit into his bag and the numerous pouches on his jumpsuit. To top it off, Jay gave him a small sack filled with bottle caps and, to answer Marcus' confused look, assured him that they were used as the official currency of the wasteland.

The soldier's eyes scanned Marcus and his several new possessions. "You're gonna need some Power Armor, if not to protect you, then at least to help you carry all of this. I'm assuming you haven't had any training, though, have you?"

"Actually, our vault had simulator of the war in Anchorage. It's been a while, but I can figure it out."

Jay was surprised. "Well, that'll save us a lot of trouble. Take Nathaniel's; aside from a few holes on the breastplate, it's in the best condition."

"But isn't that, you know...disrespectful?"

"Like I said, it's part of the Brotherhood Code to leave any–and all–possessions to anyone who happens to find them. As long as you leave the helmets…well, it's what the chief would've wanted."

Marcus nodded solemnly and bent down to remove the armor. A click of a small button, and the armor decompressed itself, the various pieces coming lose from the dead body. Shivering a little as he slid on the red-stained armor, Marcus flexed his arms and legs slowly. "It's a perfect fit."

Jay smiled sadly. "I think Nathaniel would be proud. Now, there's just one thing left to do before we go." Without waiting for a response from Marcus, the forlorn soldier gathered up the various Power Helmets and created a small pile out of them, Nathaniel's crimson one resting on top. He then pulled a match and some lighter fluid from somewhere in his suit, and began to gather up the many bodies of the Outcasts–and his father–into what was becoming a large bonfire.

"No mutated creature or soulless cannibal shall prosper from these brave soldiers' flesh, who gave their lives to make the wasteland a safer place." He spoke with a determined voice, seemingly calling out to all of the Capital Wasteland, rather than just Marcus as an individual.

Jay looked to the sky and brushed his long, messy hair from his face as he continued righteously, "Let it be remembered for all time that these men and women have fallen against a great enemy, but they have fallen with pride!" With that, he cast the lighter to the ground, which was now doused in chemicals. In a matter of seconds, the entire road was up in flames.

Marcus stepped back, and allowed a single tear to drip down from beneath his flickering sunglasses, as the fire relentlessly devoured the last thing in this world he truly cared for.

Everything burns.

Everything.


End file.
